


Emissary

by SupremelyCaffeinatedPhantasm



Category: RWBY
Genre: Jaune just wants some recognition, Protective Papa Arc, Why else would he not have been trained?, bam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremelyCaffeinatedPhantasm/pseuds/SupremelyCaffeinatedPhantasm
Summary: Jaune has his prayers answered in a way that he doesn't expect, and is given an offer that can't be refused.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Jaune Arc panted, clutching his bleeding arm as he hid behind a tree from the Beowolf, Crocea Mors’ blade pointing at the ground as he ran through idea after idea, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this one.

_ “Think, Jaune, think!”  _ His thoughts whirled through a slew of different possibilities, some better than others and some ending in his death. He shied away from the latter.  _ “Okay, okay. Doesn’t have armor, but the claws look sharp. I could bait it into a lunge attack and stab the underbelly, maybe? If I can pull it off, I survive! If I don’t, I’m on the ground and have until it turns around and decides I look tasty to get out of dodge.” _

“Better than getting eaten while I’m distracted.” With that, he decided, stepping out from the cover of the tree, taking a deep breath and going into a stance he’d seen his father go into hundreds of times. “Come on, puppy, get over here!”

With that, he began praying.  _ “Oum, if you exist, please let this work. Any other gods out there willing to lend me a hand? Maybe the old man from the story of the Maidens? Uh, The Brothers too! I’d really like to keep living.” _

He heard the growl and snapped back to reality, keeping his distance from the approaching Grimm. “Come on, come on…”

It lunged, jaws opening and poised to clamp down around his head, and being stationary would end in a painful and gruesome death for him. So, he allowed himself to fall back, good arm swinging up with Crocea Mors. The ever-sharp blade dug into the Beowolf’s side and kept going, slicing the unnatural beast in two.

Jaune let his arm fall, eyes squeezing shut and waiting for pain.

When none came, he cracked open an eyelid and looked around warily. He quickly noticed the quickly dissipating corpse, and his eyes shot open. “I… I did it…!” A giddy laugh escaped his mouth, and soon he was hollering with joy. “I did it, I really did it!” He whooped, raising his arms in the air before wincing and dropping them, but his smile only barely faltered.

Elsewhere, a bored god hummed at the wave of emotions coming from the boy. Pride, joy, anticipation. What was he anticipating? Curiosity overtook the being, and He followed, unseen by all but the Grimm, who kept their distance from their true Master.

And Jaune never noticed the way his feet shifted into an unfamiliar position before the Beowolf could pounce on him.

=-=-=

Nicolas Arc was pacing on the porch, waiting for his son to return. He knew he would, he always did, but he was late. Jaune was never late, always quick to return Crocea Mors to its place on the mantle after his self-supervised “training.”

He heard a rustling in the trees, and his head snapped towards it. He sighed in relief at the sight of a smiling Jaune, Crocea Mors at his hip, but that relief quickly turned to panic when he saw the dirt and dust on the Pumpkin Pete hoodie that Jaune kept tidy with a reverence (“Fifty box tops were hard to collect, thank you very much!”), and was only made worse by the way he was holding his arm, and that panic turned to horror when he saw the bloodstained piece of fabric wrapped around his son’s shoulder.

He dashed forward, pulling Jaune into a tight hug. “Jaune, thank Oum you’re safe!” He exclaimed before pulling away, shifting his son so he could look at his arm. “What happened to you!? You’re never late, and you come back looking like a Beowolf took a bite out of you!”

Jaune laughed, wincing a bit as his father moved his arm around. “Well, that’s pretty much what happened.”

Nicolas felt faint. This was it, he was having a heart attack. “Wh-what!?”

“It came out of nowhere dad, and it got its teeth into my shoulder, but I hit its eyes like you said to and it let go! I ran for a while after that, but it didn’t stop following me, and-” Jaune laughed a bit, grin getting wider. “I killed it dad! I did it!”

The father laughed a bit, feeling a bit dizzy. “Y-you did?”

Jaune nodded furiously. “It jumped at me, so I did this thing, where I let myself fall backwards and cut it in half when it went over me!” He didn’t notice the older Arc’s strained smile, continuing. “I adapted, just like you said I should.”

There was so much joy in his expression, Nicolas couldn’t do anything but smile weakly back. “Y-you did good, son…”

A hopeful glint entered Jaune’s eye. “Does this mean…?”

Nicolas froze for half a second. His son was asking to be trained as a Huntsman. Huntsmen went on missions, missions filled with Grimm. Grimm meant the possibility of injury, which meant the possibility of death. Thoughts of Jaune coming home in a closed casket, or worse, an empty coffin being lowered into the ground ran through his head. He began feeling nauseous, but shoved it down. 

His son was alive after a Grimm found him. It was amazing! “I’ll… I’ll think about it! I’m proud of you, son.” How could he not be? His son just killed a Beowolf! He kept his cool and came up with a successful strategy, all without Aura!

_ “And that’s why I can’t let him be trained. No Aura means that it’s impossible to become a Huntsman.” _

_ “He doesn’t know it exists,” _ That traitorous part of his mind whispered.  _ “You won’t tell him about it because you know you can’t say no if he asks for you to unlock it.” _ Natural power of the Arc bloodline be damned, Nicolas was never strong enough to say no to his children.

The happiness on Jaune’s face dimmed, and Nicolas internally winced. “Ah, got it dad. Thanks for thinking about it at least.”

“It’s nothing, son. Let’s get you patched up.”

The Arcs walked inside, and Crocea Mors returned to its position above the fireplace.

=-=-=

The God of Darkness felt joy wash over Him at the sudden relief of boredom. A human that craved recognition, power, an opportunity to prove himself, blocked at every turn! He had answered one prayer that day, and maybe if the human gave another, He’d answer again. It was the most fun He’d had in millennia.

=-=-=

Jaune was always a night owl, preferring to stay up and browse whatever was catching his interest at the time, though he fell asleep quickly normally. Today was an exception, however, as he laid in bed wrestling with the disappointment of being turned down by his father.

Again.

“He said he’d think about it…”

_ “You know he won’t. He’s just saying that.” _

He rolled over in his bed, burying his face in his pillow. He knew that. He knew that for some reason, nothing he ever did was enough for his father to let him follow that dream of traveling the world, helping people as a huntsman. To follow in the footsteps of almost all his ancestors.

Sure, he wasn’t trained. No one was at the start! He was only 14, and everyone said he was a quick study! His school teachers, his guitar instructor, his-

Okay, he couldn’t sing, and no one could teach him anything about that. But everyone else said he was a great learner! Sure, Crocea Mors was heavy in his arms, but he did strength training for that. He may not know how to be an efficient fighter, but he killed a Grimm! That had to mean something!

Didn’t it?

He quietly got out of bed, walking to the kitchen for a glass of water.

As he filled a cup, his thoughts whirled with frustration.  _ “Why won’t he just let me try? How can I get him to acknowledge me?” _

He nearly dropped his drink when he heard his father’s voice from halfway across the house.

The young Arc looked towards his parent’s room, concerned. His father never raised his voice! So Jaune set down the cup and softly made his way to their door, pressing his ear to the door.

“-ou’ll wake the kids, Nicolas.” His mother, her tone gently scolding.

“I… I’m sorry.” His father, tone apologetic. “I just… I can’t, Juni.”

“And why can’t you? He proved himself today just fine. He came back alive when one of those things found him.”

“He doesn’t have his Aura unlocked.”

“He doesn’t know what Aura is, Nic.”

Jaune could almost hear the wince. “But-”

“It’s your last excuse, isn’t it? The fact that he doesn’t have Aura, and you’re keeping it from him because if he finds out, you won’t be able to refuse him.”

The young man frowned. Aura… his father never said anything about that. What even was it?

“...I can’t train Jaune, Juni. I won’t.”

Jaune’s eyes widened, and everything screeched to a halt.

“If I do, I… I don’t want to imagine what’ll happen.”

His dad refused to train him.

“He could die, Juni! He could be brought back in pieces…!”

His dad didn’t think that he’d be able to do it.

“So I won’t. I’ll keep him safe, even if it means he isn’t happy.”

Jaune stumbled back, hitting the wall with a dull thud before tearing down the hall into the living room. He took Crocea Mors from the wall and ran out the door, slamming it behind him as Nicolas burst into the hall.

“Who’s there!?”

The father quickly made his way through the house, taking note of everything. None of the doors in that hall were open, and as he went down, nothing seemed to be missing or damaged. He entered the living room, and his eyes fixed on the bent and broken hook on the floor. His eyes shot to the mantle, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of the broken display stand of their family blade.

“Jaune.”

When the door slammed behind Nicolas Arc, the glass of water rippled.

=-=-=

Oh, how He could’ve cackled! What an interesting development this was! The human broke under the stress of a sudden discovery, and what a fascinating break it was, all jagged edges and sharp points. The God of Darkness would be watching this very closely.

=-=-=

He hacked and slashed and beat the tree with all his might, tears rolling down his face. “Damn it!” He bashed the lacerated trunk with Crocea Mors’ shield, taking satisfaction in the cracking of the wood. “DAMN IT!”

He screamed, slashing one last time before the tree finally gave in, toppling down and impacting the forest floor. He leaned back, looking up to the sky as sweat ran down his face. “Why, why, why, WHY! Why is nothing I do GOOD ENOUGH!”

His thoughts were quieter as he panted.  _ “Someone… please just let me prove to him that I’m strong enough…” _

The watching deity would’ve smiled if he had a mouth to do it with, commanding three juvenile Beowolves to come to him.

**“Your wish is granted, young Arc.”**

Jaune didn’t hear the god’s words, only the growling of the three Grimm, which he answered with a growl of his own, anger shoving down his fear. He held the shield and blade out, and the first Beowolf pounced, impacting the shield.

He shoved it back as it tried leaning forward, jaws snapping at his face, before slamming it down into the stump of the newly chopped-down tree, impaling it. The second and third jumped him at the same time, and he dove into a roll, landing on his knees and turning to the approaching Grimm before scrambling to his feet, grip on Crocea Mors’ hilt turning his knuckles white. “Come and get it!”

One of them jumped, and he stabbed it through the skull before tearing the blade free, deflecting the corpse before a searing pain in his left leg made him cry out. He looked down, eyes wild as the Beowolf bit down. He tried stabbing at it, but the blade only got stuck in the Grimm’s body.

His vision began blurring, and he slipped the shield from his arm, holding it in a vice grip. “Just DIE!” He slammed the point into the Beowolf’s neck, severing the head from the body.

Jaune fell backwards as the head fell from his leg, and he screamed.

“JAUNE!” Nicolas burst into view behind him, eyes frenzied as he took in the scene. Three dead Grimm. Three of them. One impaled, nearly gone, one with a hole in the bone plating over its eyes, and one missing its head entirely with Crocea Mors sticking from the dissipating corpse…

And his son was in the center of it all.

Jaune quieted down, shakily turning to his father as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I-is this enough for y-you, dad? I-I won’t be coming home in pieces...”

With that, his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness, falling back.

Nicolas’ eyes widened as he raced forwards, catching Jaune and setting him down. “No no no no no no…” He looked over Jaune’s body, zeroing in on the bite mark marring the boy’s leg.

_ “This is all my fault…” _

He took a deep breath, putting his hand over Jaune’s head, closing his eyes.

_ “For it is in service that we attain immortality. With every act, we forge our legacy in the fires of life and carve our names into history. Burdened by duty and freed from time, I release thy soul, and by my vision, guide thee.” _

He felt his Aura drain, much more than normal, and looked to his son’s leg, where snow-white light seemed to burn away the injury, knitting muscle back together and repairing bone, leaving only the faintest of scars behind. Nicolas sagged in relief, eyes screwed shut. “I’m so, so sorry, son…” 

He retrieved the blade and shield before walking back to Jaune, hefting the young boy onto his back. “Let’s go home.”

=-=-=

Jaune’s eyes snapped open in a void of pitch black, and he shot up, gasping and patting himself down. Satisfied with all his limbs being in place, he looked around, and his eyes widened. “Aw, come on! All that and I died? Ugh!” He spun for a few moments, quickly coming to a halt.

**“Not dead, little human.”**

Jaune instantly tensed, head swiveling in the darkness. “Who’s there!? What do you want!?” He’d been kidnapped. Just perfect.

**“I have no name, and as for what I want…”** A chuckle rang out in the inky space. “ **I have been overcome by boredom for eons, and I find you intriguing and amusing.”**

“...So you  _ aren’t _ planning on killing me in an endless amount of painful ways.”

**“That would be quite a waste. After all, it would be much more interesting to grant your wish and watch the aftermath. So-”** A purple light shone, and Jaune’s arms came up to cover his face. When he felt nothing happen, he lowered his arms, only to see a large humanoid with curled horns standing in front of him.  **“I will make you strong, Jaune Arc. Strong enough to prove to your father, no, to prove to** **_everyone_ ** **that you’re worth more than they bargained for.”**

Jaune looked up in awe as The God of Darkness held out His hand to him, feeling the power rolling off of Him in waves…

“But…”

The deity raised an eyebrow.  **“But?”**

Jaune looked up. “Then it wouldn’t be my strength. It’d just be the strength you gave me, and doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

The God of Darkness felt an emotion He hadn’t experienced in years. Shock. He was shocked at the reaction of this young man who he  _ knew _ was craving power. And when offered, he says no!

“Instead of just making me strong, could you help me become strong instead?”

He couldn’t help it, He just had to laugh, the mad cackling filling the air. Jaune retreated slightly, obviously afraid.  _ “I’m so dead, aren’t I?” _

**“Oh, my Brother would have been impressed by you!”** He would be smiling if he had a mouth, and Jaune could tell.  **“Sadly, he has removed himself from this world, so I am all you have. But yes, I can help you become strong. I will provide you with everything you need! You will have all the time in the world to learn, the experience of eons to draw from! You will be a force to be reckoned with, and even the Creatures of Grimm will fear you.”**

Once again, He held out his hand to Jaune.  **“Do you accept, Jaune Arc?”**

The young man looked up. “Before I do… what are you? Some genie, hoping to take advantage of me?”

**“No, not a genie. Just a bored entity, and you happen to interest me. Consider me your Divine Intervention. After all, I did answer your prayers.”**

Jaune’s brow furrowed. “Prayers…? Oum!?”

Another laugh from the Being.  **“No, not that mage.”**

“Then…” The youth’s mind whirled, before everything suddenly clicked. “You’re the Younger Brother…”

**“Indeed, Jaune.”** Unsaid were the Deity’s question of how he knew that story.

“W-which means that you created humanity, so it’s not hugely likely that you’d actively be trying to make me miserable… and if you haven’t been heard from at all, then you probably really are bored, I guess?”

**“Enough of that. Jaune Arc, will you accept this offer?”** He stretched his hand out once more.  **“It will be your wildest dreams turned reality.”**

Jaune looked up, staring at the expressionless face of The God of Darkness before reaching his decision, taking His hand. “I accept.” 

A bout of drowsiness hit him, and his eyes fluttered. “Wh-wha…”

**“Then awake, Jaune Arc. You will be a fine Emissary.”**

**=-=-=**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, forgot to do this in Chapter 1. Hi! I'm SCP (spooky acronym is spooky), welcome to Emissary, an idea that gut punched me a while ago. Jaune's been given weird mentor figure in the form of an unimaginably powerful deity that apparently created the world. Oops.

Jaune woke up to a cold piece of metal on his chest and groaned, rolling over in his bed. “C’mon, Sabe… gimme a break.”

There was a chuckle above him that definitely wasn’t his prankster of a sister. A vaguely familiar voice sounded out, somewhat warped by his drowsiness. “Well, it looks like he’ll be okay. He was recovering from healing such a drastic wound at a speed that’s impressive even with Aura.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Jaune opened his eyes to see the family doctor standing over his bed with a hand on his father’s shoulder. “He’s going to be okay. He’s a strong young man, and he’ll get up soon with even more energy than before.”

Said young man fixed bleary eyes on his father, who looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Heavy bags sat under his eyes, and his normally well-shaven face was covered in bushy stubble. To top it all off, the man looked close to tears… “Thank you, Dr. Rust. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I can do, Nicolas.” The doctor smiled and left, leaving the two.

Jaune slowly sat up, groaning with the soreness of his muscles, and his father sluggishly lurched forwards. “C-careful, Jaune…”

The younger blonde frowned, blinking away the remnants of tiredness and looking at his father. “Dad? What’s wrong? You look-unf-!” The breath was knocked out of him as his father crashed into him, his body wrapped in a tight embrace “D-dad?”

Nicolas held Jaune as close as he could, shoulders shaking as the tears began rolling down his face. “Oh, thank Oum…! I was so scared, Jaune, I thought you died…”

Quickly hugging his father back, Jaune frowned. “What do you mean? I-” His eyes widened as memories began flooding back. “O-oh. That.” The conversation, him getting angry, running to the forest… 

The Beowolves.

He repressed a shudder, tightening his hug. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t apologize,” The cutoff was quick. “I was too stubborn… I’m… I was just scared. Scared that I’d wake up one day and you’d be gone… I shouldn’t have kept secrets. It just made things worse. And…” Nicolas pulled away a bit, looking Jaune in the eyes. “I was wrong. I think you’ll make a great Huntsman, Jaune.”

Jaune’s eyes went wide, grip going slack for a moment. “Dad…?” He felt hope rising in his chest.

Smiling, the father nodded. “When you’re up and healed, I’ll start training you for real.”

Joy overflowed, and Jaune’s tight embrace shoved the air out of Nicolas’ lungs. “Thank you…!”

“Hey, don’t thank me yet,” Jaune felt a hand mussing up his hair and gave a squawk of protest. “You’re going to hate me once we start training.” Nicolas chuckled at the look of disbelief Jaune gave him. “You’re not allowed to quit, you know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nicolas smiled, ruffling Jaune’s hair one last time before standing. “I’ll let you rest. I’ll tell your sisters you’re awake, but need rest, so you’ll have a bit to gather your thoughts.” With that, he walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

Jaune let out a sigh of relief, silently thanking his father and letting his head fall back to the pillow. “I… I can’t believe that I’m gonna get trained…”

**“And why not? You asked for a chance to prove yourself, and succeeded when I gave it to you.”**

Jaune jumped at the sight of the deity sitting cross-legged on his dresser, tensing up. “Oh Oum, that wasn’t a dream.”

**“Technically, it was. Your dream was just me talking to you, and the me in the dream was actually me.”** There was a sort of mirth in the tone of the speech, one Jaune was slightly annoyed by.

Groaning, he laid back down, glancing towards the purple form of the Younger Brother. “So… you’re just gonna be here, aren’t you?”

The horned figure nodded.  **“Indeed, I will stay with you until I’ve seen this deal through.”**

“Which means you might talk to me while others are watching. You can read minds, right?”

**“I can. Which means that your worries of being called insane are completely unfounded.”**

Jaune flushed, but rolled his eyes. “Rude.”

A chuckle.  **“Am I not One of the Two that allowed your existence to be possible?”**

“Still not sure you’re one of The Brothers. It’s the leading theory, but not the only one.”

**“I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”**

“If you were me, you’d do exactly what I’m doing, because you’d be me.”

The ease of his words actually stunned the god for a moment before more chuckles slipped from his lips.  **“If you didn’t amuse me so, Jaune Arc, it would be like you never existed.”**

Jaune blanched. “Let’s hope I keep amusing you, because I don’t have a filter.”

**“Indeed.”**

=-=-=

After a dizzying set of interactions with his sisters during his recovery (“Did you  _ really _ fight a Grimm?” “Was it scary?” “Are your arm and leg okay?” “Didja piss yourself?” “Is dad gonna train you?” “So cool…” “Please don’t do it again!”), Jaune was already done with being an easy target for his siblings to poke and prod. So, as soon as the soreness dissipated, he was up and ready for whatever his father had in store for him.

When Nicolas asked for the fourth time if he was sure he would be fine, he almost resorted to begging. “Please,” He asked. “ _ Please, _ just get me away from them.”

“Fine, fine,” The older blond held his hands out in surrender. “But I’m going to put you through at least three wringers by the time we’re done, you hear?”

Jaune nodded, visibly sagging in relief as the two walked out of the door. “So many questions…”

His father winced in sympathy. “Ouch.” Jaune nodded solemnly, and Nicolas continued. “Well, first, we’re hitting the gym.”

Jaune’s brow furrowed. “Huh? Why? I can already lift both Crocea Mors and the shield pretty well…”

“Aura. It does a lot, as I’m sure you noticed.” He tapped Jaune’s shoulder, and the youth’s hand instinctively went to where the injury used to be. “It acts like… kind of like a healing factor, in some cases. When you were training earlier, it took a long time to recover from your sore muscles, yeah?”

“Mhm. It took around a week, usually… but this time it only took a couple days, and I’m pretty sure I used muscles I didn’t know I had. But what-”

“Exactly, and it does more than just that.” The Huntsman started counting off his fingers as his son bristled a bit. “It can act like a defense that’s tougher than Atlas’ top grade steel, enhance your strength to an absurd degree, among other things.”

Jaune’s mouth formed an o as he put the pieces together, and he gave a low whistle. “That’s… that’s versatile.”

“It’s what lets Huntsman survive fighting Grimm. Those things don’t feel pain, so if we want to fight and beat them, we can’t either.”

Nodding, Jaune looked forward. “And because it enhances strength, we’re going to the gym to see how much stronger I’ve gotten?”

Nicolas grinned. “That’s precisely it.”

=-=-=

Triple… his max bench had almost tripled. “430,” His father chimed, “We’ll have to get that up. 

“U- _ up!? _ ” It already felt almost inhuman to be lifting that much at his age.

All he got was a shrug in return. “It’s good for your age, sure, but when you have to shove a particularly large Ursa off you? You’ll thank me for making you lift more.”

He gulped and nodded as Nicolas pulled out his scroll, tapping a bit. “Well, let’s get going.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve got more things to test.”

In the end, Nicolas primarily assessed Jaune’s speed, agility, and endurance alongside his strength, the end result being a satisfied father and an exhausted son.

“Everything’s looking good. It’ll take time, but I’ll make a Huntsman out of you yet, Jaune.” He smiled, setting a water bottle next to his laid-out son.

“You-” Jaune started between gasps of breath, “You say that like I wouldn’t have made one out of myself eventually…”

Nicolas smiled again. “Somehow son, I don’t doubt that.”

The younger Arc slowly sat up, taking small sips from the water bottle. “...Do you really mean that, dad?”

His father’s mind flashed to the sight of Jaune, kneeling in clearing, Grimm corpses dissipating around him. “Yeah, I do.”

=-=-=

_ “Well,” _ Thought Jaune as he narrowly dodged a swing from his father’s training sword,  _ “This is hell.” _

**“Ha!”** The God of Darkness watched on, amused.  **“This is nothing compared to battles in the days of sorcery! Humans would spit storms of fire and ice alike to incapacitate the other in a friendly spar, and whole landscapes would become desolate if they wanted to kill the enemy!”**

_ “That’s swell and all, but-” _ He ducked a swing, gulping as it crushed the trunk of an adjacent tree, the tall plant falling over with a great crack.  _ “My dad is contributing to deforestation with a blunted sword!” _

**“I fail to see how that involves me.”** The God watched as Jaune frantically scrambled away from the advancing form of his father.

“Come on Jaune,” Came a slow drawl. “You’ve got aura now. A speeding bullhead could hit you and you’d be fine.”

“Gee, what a huge comfort!” He barely got his shield up in time to block the next hit. “Please don’t crush my skull.” He took a step back as he felt his father pressing, feet digging into the dirt.

Nicolas scoffed, sidestepping a sloppy thrust from Jaune. “You literally asked for this.”

“Touche…”

It was only a week before Jaune scored his first hit on Nicolas, a glancing blow to his pauldron. It almost hurt the father to wipe the smile off the son’s face with a swing that knocked the sword out of his hand. “Don’t get cocky!”

=-=-=

Jaune looked over the blade of Crocea Mors, frowning and running his hand over the flat of the weapon.

“Something wrong, son?”

The boy started, almost dropping the family blade. “D-dad! Sorry, I-I was just looking over Crocea Mors… it has so many nicks and chips taken out of it.”

His father sat down next to him, humming. “Comes with the generations of use, I suppose. What’s got you so bothered about it?”

He took a deep breath, frown deepening. “What if it breaks on me? Aura strengthens the steel, I get that, but if my aura runs out it’s just a normal blade.”

**“Quite the ‘if,’ my Emissary. Your soul has a substantial volume to it.”**

Nicolas frowned as well, eyes furrowing as he considered it. “Hm… and you killed those Beowolves without any Aura strengthening it at all, putting strain on the blade that it hasn’t been through in a while.” He nodded slowly, before turning to Jaune once more. “How would you feel about taking a small trip north? I know a blacksmith in Mistral that we can go to for maintenance, maybe even a small upgrade to something or other.”

The young blond nearly had stars in his eyes as he nodded.

=-=-=

The blacksmith, it turned out, was a tall man with horns curling out from his head. Seeing the burly figure intimidated him a bit, but he took a deep breath and stood up straight. “Ah, Nic! What can I do ya for?” However, his personality was jovial and happy, and Jaune relaxed a bit.

“Good to see you too, Clay. But I’m not here for me this time. Jaune?”

The young Arc walked forward, gulping. “U-uhm, I’d like to make a request for some maintenance to be done on my sword, sir.” Those words made him giddy. His sword, his! He pulled the sheath from his side, placing it on the table.

The man laughed. “Bah, drop the formalities! Call me Clay, kiddo.” When Jaune nodded, he picked up the sword, unsheathing it.

The blacksmith’s eyes roamed the blade, taking in the evidence of a well-used sword. “Nothin’ any blacksmith worth their salt can’t fix. Gimme a day or two, and it’ll be good as new.”

“Really?” Jaune looked at the marred blade. “That seems fast.”

“I’ve been in this business for a long time. I won’t cut any corners though, you have my word.”

Jaune slowly nodded. It made sense, years of experience allowed for efficiency. “Alright. While we’re here, there’s something else…”

Nicolas watched on with a fond smile as Jaune animatedly explained his idea.

“Well, I’m just glad you aren’t askin’ for one of those mechashift weapons. Not that I can’t make ‘em, mind you, but what a pain in the rear.” Clay chuckled a bit, clapping Jaune on the shoulder.

Jaune just grinned, eyes sparkling. “Thank you so much.”

“Bah! Nothin’ to it, kid.”

=-=-=

Jaune gave Crocea Mors a few test swings, marveling at how much better it felt just to  _ hold _ the repaired blade. “Wow…”

**“Human craftsmanship has only improved, I see.”** The god laid on his side, humming as he observed Jaune’s tests.  **“It has become more elegant, without magic to aid the process.”**

Looking over the shield, Jaune nodded. “The edges are definitely sharpened…” He pressed a new button on the fixed brace and flicked his arm up, a happy noise escaping his throat when the shield spun with it, clicking into place with the point lined up with his fist. “Oh, that’s  _ perfect! _ ”

**“I suppose that it’s just human nature that you took your half-baked plan for beating the third Beowolf and are turning it into a staple.”** Jaune flushed as a rumbling laugh escaped the deity.

_ “Look, God of Darkness…” _ Jaune paused his thought. _ “I need a nickname for you, because thinking out ‘God of Darkness’ or ‘Younger Brother’ is tedious, and I still don’t even know if that’s what you are. Can I call you GoD?” _

He scoffed.  **“You would call me that regardless of whether I approved or not. Do what you will.”**

_ “Alright, cool. Look, GoD, I just think that having the extra punching power would be a good idea.” _

**“You also think that it would simply look ‘cool,’ Jaune Arc.”**

=-=-=

During the day, he would learn to fight.

In his dreams, he would learn to think.

**“You are not Jaune tonight. Tonight, you are General Timotheus of the Gales. You command powerful air magic, but you are faced with this.”** The God of Darkness snapped, and below the hill Jaune stood on was a sea of enemies. He gulped, scanning the battlefield as his teacher continued.  **“Your men are well-trained and somewhat numerous, but nowhere near able to fight against this many soldiers, and morale is failing.”**

**“What do you do?”**

Jaune took a deep breath. “What do I know about the opposing country or alliance? Any specializations? How big is it?”

There was a hum in return.  **“The country of Eyria is your opposition, and it is a densely populated nation with incredible martial strength. They see magic as a crutch that weak people use to become powerful, and their soldiers are very physically strong.”**

**“They have an army of great size and renown, however, this many soldiers is odd for them to use, even against one as accomplished as yourself.”**

Jaune continued to scan them, frowning. His eyes, for some reason, kept being drawn to the flags… “Do I have enough magical power to send a wind through the flags in particular?”

**“That would be a drop in the bucket.”** The god snaps, and Jaune’s eyes widen as less than half of the flags in the enemy army flapped in the sudden wind.

“Illusions…!”

**“Indeed.”** Suddenly, they were floating above the rapidly unfolding battle, Timotheus’ forces gaining confidence and attacking the opposing army.  **“Well done. You noticed the strange movement of the flags quickly.”**

A frown worked its way onto Jaune’s face. “Why did they have someone to use illusions?”

**“A good question. Let me answer with my own: if they had such an impressive army, why did they not take over long ago?”**

“Well, because the other nations had… mages…”

**“Exactly. Too set in their ways to welcome magic, but at a severe military disadvantage without it… it was a miracle in of itself that they were able to be wrestled into an agreement with the ones providing the magic users.”**

A tilted head. “Who provided it?”

**“Unimportant. You’ve learned what you need from this lesson.”** He snaps, and the battle speeds forward, until Timotheus and his soldiers were the only ones left on the battlefield.  **“And so, due to his quick thinking and the wind at his call, Timotheus beat back the Eyrian forces. However, not without loss of life, and-”** The sound of a great beast’s feet hitting the earth resounded.  **“Not without the Grimm.”**

Jaune watched, tense, as a Goliath strode onto the field.

**“But they did yet survive, their allies finally locating them and removing them from danger.”**

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Timotheus' forces disappeared.

**“...You are compassionate.”**

Jaune glared. “Is that a problem?”

**“Not in the slightest. It suits your goals quite well… a protector cannot protect if they do not care.”**

Slowly relaxing, a sigh escaped his lips. “Sorry. I’m… used to being put down for things like that.”

The God of Darkness scoffed.  **“It is but a trifle. Now rest.”**

The human nodded as the world slipped away, the dark of sleep overtaking him.

=-=-=

Thus, two years passed.

Jaune’s growth continued, his skills and mind sharpening with the passing months. He grew, and Crocea Mors became a familiar presence in his hand, just as the God of Darkness became a familiar presence in his mind.

Soon came the day when Nicolas gave him a nod over the newspaper, as well as dropped a bomb in his lap.

“Alright, I’ve set us up to accompany Signal Combat Academy on a routine Grimm extermination with their Advanced Combat class.” Nicolas smirked as sputtering emerged from the table.

As soon as his breathing was back under control, Jaune stared at his father. “Wh-what? Really!?”

Nicolas chuckled as he peeked over the newspaper at the slight mess from the spit take Jaune had just been through. “Yup. Next week. Make sure you’re ready, and work on that landing strategy some more.”

The huntsman-in-training pounded on his chest with a fist, coughing to dislodge some crumbs of cereal. “I-I gotta get ready! Should I get my hair cut, should-”

“Ah-ah-ah, calm down. You've got a week to prepare.” Nicolas paused. “...And I think you'd look good in a warrior's wolf tail.”

=-=-=

**“Young Arc.”**

Jaune looked up from the pack he was filling with a few travel essentials. “Hm? What's up?”

The GoD was floating upside down off to the side, humming.  **“Your training has been going well. I believe that this has earned you a reward.”**

The boy continued filing the pack, but slower. “What is it?”

**“I have considered this for quite some time, and I have decided to give you a piece of Darkness. A small mote of magic for you to make your own.”** He gave a chuckle at the baffled expression Jaune gave Him.  **“Do not be so concerned with it. I am giving you a tool, as your father gave you that sword.”**

“I…” Jaune had been rendered speechless. Magic. Real, genuine  _ magic. _ And he was going to be able to use it.

The chuckle was louder this time.  **“Take the gift.”** A clawed hand touched to his forehead, and the Darkness flowed into him, leaving him gasping for air as it settled into his being.

It took a few more moments for him to stop shaking at the new weight that sat in his very soul. Mote, the God of Darkness had said, but it settled into his body like a massive storm. “That… that was something…” He closed his eyes to take a calming breath, but they suddenly widened as he looked around. “I can… I can feel the shadows…”

**“Indeed, my Emissary.”** The deity only smiled.

**“You grow ever stronger.”**

**=-=-=**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up!


End file.
